Home
by This Is Melodrama
Summary: It's the most beautiful word you know.


**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.  
**

* * *

You're supposed to be the happy-go-lucky one, the one who is understanding, the one who can make almost anyone smile.

You are none of those things right now.

It's been five days, and still, there is no update on him or Johnny Cade. You are restless, anxious, and worried, _oh so worried._ You haven't slept, ate . . . Glory, you've barely been _alive._

But you can't afford to be, not without knowing your kid brother is safe, that he's alright.

 _Dammit! Where is he?!_

You run a nervous hand across your forehead, ignoring the red blotches around your fingernails where you've bitten them off. You haven't done that since you were a child, but Lord how you feel younger than ever right now.

You're scared stiff.

You watch your older brother sit by the phone, simply waiting. He's been under so much stress you're surprised that he hasn't collapsed. He's been blaming himself silently, this you know, and you ever so subtly let him know that it isn't his fault.

Maybe you shouldn't have jumped in when you did, then maybe Darry wouldn't have gone off at you, which was what caused Ponyboy to yell at Darry. A simple chain reaction that could have been avoided if only none of you started in on each other.

You could take it, though. Pony . . . he's different, not like that. He's sensitive, and he feels things a lot differently than the rest of you.

Glory, you're so damn worried about that kid, your baby brother.

Is he eating? Sleeping? Is he hurt? You can't stand to think about it. You're his big brother, the one he adores the most, you know this, too. You are _supposed_ to protect him, you and Darry both, but you hadn't, and now Darry thinks he's a failure and you think you can't even take care of either of them.

That's the job, isn't it? _You're_ the middle man, _you_ look out for your older brother and your younger brother. You're supposed to be the eyes when they can't see, the ears when they can't hear, and yet, you're so lost you can't even think clearly.

Your head is pounding something awful.

You think about the guys, knowing they've been taking this situation more seriously than they have ever taken anything that you're aware of.

Two-Bit was jumped, Steve was actually speechless, his usual cocky remarks absent, and Dallas . . . You know he knows something, you just _know_ it. You didn't give him the letter to Ponyboy along with half of your paycheck for nothing.

You're the one who found Pony's shirt in his room at Buck's. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure the rest of it out. Well, if Dallas wouldn't tell you where he'd sent Pony and Johnny off to, the least, _the very least,_ he could do was give Pony your letter.

It gives you some comfort knowing that Dallas is looking out for them, but it doesn't give you the security that you so desperately need.

Ponyboy belongs home, with you, with Darry. _He belongs home!_

It kills you that there is nothing, _absolutely nothing,_ that you can do except wait. You've never felt so incredibly useless in your entire life. Ponyboy needs you, Johnny needs all of you . . . Hell, you need somebody, and so does Darry.

You just want your brother back. You need Ponyboy. You need him more than he's ever needed you, this is a fact, but you'll never let him know that, because you know how much he loves you, how much he looks up to you.

Ponyboy is your hero, though. He's smart, he's confident, he's _going places_ . . . He's everything you wish you could be, even though you're happy doing what you do. You know this is why Darry is hard on him sometimes; it's because he's proud of him, and he wants him to keep making him proud.

And golly, you're proud of that kid, too.

You look up from your spot on the couch as the phone rings, and you see Darry practically come back to life as he jumps up to answer it.

"Hello?"

You watch his eyes broaden, his mouth spilling open, before he glances at you quickly. He looks relieved, shocked, and . . . happy, genuinely happy.

Hanging the phone up, he looks at you, _really looks_ at you. "Ponyboy is here . . . he's at the hospital."

And then you're on your feet, bolting out the door to the truck with Darry hot on your heels.

 _We're coming, Ponyboy. We're coming, little brother._

 _You're coming home._

Home . . . it's the most beautiful word you know, because when you think of it, you think of your parents, your brothers, and your buddies, and glory, what a beautiful place it is.


End file.
